UISGE BEATHA
ILE - REST DAY
I woke up to a little bit of wind. The Guiness I thought.
It was also breezy outside - something that was becoming as typical a part of the day as the sun was, breaking though mid to late morning. for the first time on the trip I made my own eggs and bacon in the generous sized kitchen. Pans and crockery were laid out with military precision and after I'd turned out the fluorescent strips in the dining room I could relax and look out the windows to the hypnotic swaying of the trees and rolling waves. A friendly fellow from East Kilbride and a Swedish Chef shared breakfast with me and we discussed our respective days.
As I was not cycling into a headwind when I didn't have to I decided to head down to Port Ellen and the three distilleries with the Swede. I did a bit of drawing first and then got the bus, which, by the time we'd hit Bowmore was full of Swedish. Literally. There was 9 Swedes, me and the driver. It was to be a running theme.
Port Ellen is a well kept wee fishing village with a cove of clean white houses - the bus continued on the tiny road, this time full of lush greenery in contrast to the barren peat bogs of the centre of the island - quite another world. Firstly you pass Laphroaig, then Lagavulin and finally Ardbeg. The little coves these distilleries rest upon have rugged island outcrops poking from the sea as your eye scans up to the horizon but the bright blue water and machair soften to perfection before the weathered iron roofed sheds with names written by giants sit bold, but in seeming total harmony, along side.
We nip (pun intended) into Lagavulin after a rally lift from one of Ardbeg's staff who realised we were pushing it for time and do the tour. It's full of Swedes. I think I wasn't alone to find disappointing the fact that the malting process is now done by Diageo in a big shed the other side of town (Bowmore still do the romantic - men in waistcoats getting up in the middle of the night to turn it in long, oak floored rooms - routine). Lagavulin had a nice family feel however, and the cheeky double-matured-sherry-cask-number we had on departure warmed the cockles and set us up for the walk along postman pat's route to Ardbeg with an incredible taste in the mouth.
Although the tour at Ardbeg covered much the same script as Lagavulin it did come with a more interesting story. The manic rally-driver-come-guide certainly gave us our money's worth and we were dipped in the brand immersion that she must have got when Glenmorangie bought them over and got whichever advertising agency to reinvent them. Actually you don't have to - the town of 500 which Ardbeg used to feed is enough to make you realise it's closure only about 20 years ago and it's subsequent extremely popular rise to the top of the whisky world could almost be a script sitting on a table in hollywood waiting to be the downfall of this popular but still peaceful oasis.
We had good food but missed the bus. We hitched with some Canadians to Port Ellen and I noted that the road heading down toward the shore with it's School, climbing frame and open fields looked eerily like the very same setting in 'The Birds'. The Swede and the Canadian couple agreed before falling silent and becoming a bit freaked out by the close resemblence. The man started looking for Ravens.
By luck we stumbled upon our man from East Kilbride on the edge of town and he drove us home via the Kildalton cross, taking us back past the distilleries. It was worth it. The road got even more Beautiful as we ventured east - seals basked in the bays, pheasants flew out our way, rabbits jumped around and roe deer watched us anxiously from a distance. Thick fern, bluebells and wild garlic made for perfect scent as we drove back, sun warming the faces on a perfect evening.
